


Days Turn Into Nights

by freezepopsandoom



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Humiliation, Light Bondage, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mind Games, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 14:46:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freezepopsandoom/pseuds/freezepopsandoom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was times like these that Stiles felt like an idiot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Days Turn Into Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday to my lovely friend Emma! I wrote you a thing! Lightly beta'd.
> 
> Title from eponymous Deleruim track (although I prefer the Seven Lions' remix.)

It was times like these that Stiles felt like an idiot. He’d gotten a text from Derek’s number that said, simply, _I need you. Immediately. Something’s wrong, I’m at the house._

Naturally, with dread seeping out of his pores and a hundred ideas about what could possibly be wrong with Derek at 11am on a summer Thursday (and why could it never be fixed with kittens or sex, it always had to involve pain or blood, usually Stiles’ pain), he drove out to the preserve with reckless abandon.

When he got there, the Camaro was nowhere in sight, and neither was Derek. He started freaking out and called Derek’s phone to ask him where the hell he was and whether or not he needed back-up or to grab something with wolfsbane. Preoccupied with his own fear, it took him two trips to voicemail before he noticed the faint sound of buzzing coming from one of the other rooms.

Stiles stepped around any areas of the condemned house he was sure were close to collapsing, and made his way through the ashes and wood and tried to tamp down on the rising bile at the thought of finding Derek’s corpse. After a bit of calling and muting his own, he found Derek’s phone under a recently relocated tarp and hardly felt the the blow that knocked him out.

He woke up face-down on the floor, shooting pain radiating from his skull downward to his neck, which quickly receded to a buzzing, fuzzy static at the prospect of survival. He laid there and tried not to move for a bit in the hopes that the fuzziness would leave him clear, but no dice. The only shaft of bright, noonday light encircled him from a hole in the ceiling, not helping at all with his headache.

Lips smacking and mouth parched, it took a full minute to focus enough to try and pick himself up only to find that his arms were bound behind his back in three places. He flailed until he managed to get up to a kneeling position and thanked any god he could think of that his feet weren’t bound in a similar fashion. It was only then that he noticed the older man on the far side of the room. Presumably the same man who knocked him out. He froze.

Sunglasses covered the man’s eyes and Stiles wondered if that was to shield them from Stiles’ notice or if he had recently visited the optometrist. Stiles really hoped it was the former, because that upped his chances of survival in a hostage situation, but guessed on his luck that it was probably closer to the latter.

A strong, sharp face, that Stiles couldn’t deny was handsome, tilted and smiled and turned to face Stiles, now conscious, if still fuzzy.

“Hello, Stiles,” his voice was accented, some kind of British that Stiles couldn’t place at the moment. He smiled, and that, too, was sharp, predatory. “I would suggest you not struggle too much as the bonds will only tighten.”

Being Stiles, he tested them out with a couple of grunts and the man chuckled. “You are _indeed_ Stiles.”

“Where’s Derek?” There was a soft defeat in his words, but they were short and to the point. He’d been captured before, tortured and forced to watch his friends be tortured. He knew he could survive it, he already had once, but if he had to go through it all over again, he’d rather get it over with.

The man strode over to him, shadowed outside of the ring of sunlight, but he never quite met Stiles’ eyes, or at least Stiles couldn’t tell because of the chiaroscuro like effect. “So much concern in your voice for the alpha, Stiles. Is he truly so important to you?”

Stiles stayed silent. The man could take his power trip and shove it.

“I am Deucalion,” he said, leaning over Stiles, shadows wrapping around the lines of his face, backlit by the sun. “And now that you’re here, we can get the message to Hale that we’re willing to negotiate for you.”

Stiles laughed, a dusty chortle that fit the decor. “If you think Derek will trade anything for me, you’re sadly mistaken, buddy. He’d probably pay you to finish me off.” Deucalion tsk’d.

“Don’t think so little of yourself, Stiles. He cares for you more than he lets on, even a blind man can see that.” The subtle and not so subtle hints clicked together and Stiles felt like an idiot once again. A small, aborted shake of his head brought the immediate rush of pain back and he gasped in response. “But first…”

Deucalion knelt down and raised a hand to Stiles’ face, cupping his palm. Before Stiles could squirm away, he felt the pain receding like the tide. Mouth hung open, he sighed, blissful, at the sudden absence of over-firing neurons and subconsciously leaned into the touch.

They stayed that way just long enough for Stiles to regain full capacity of his brain, then Deucalion brought up his other hand and ghosted feather-light touches all over Stiles’ frown. The pain came back but it was far less this time around, just enough to make Stiles grind his teeth.

“You have handsome features, even if you haven’t fully grown into them,” he remarked. The words were a soft juxtaposition to the rest of his predicament, hardly disturbing the swirling dust motes. Oddly intimate in the quiet space that was just created after he’d finished mapping out Stiles’ features.

“…Thanks?” Stiles said, but then he sighed again as Deucalion dropped his hands to Stiles’ neck and leeched out more pain. Stiles had a fleeting thought that if Scott could do this he’d been holding out on him.

“Now that you know I’m not going to kill you, we can make you more comfortable, seeing as we’re going to be waiting on word from your alpha.” Deucalion leaned even further into Stiles’ space and moved his hands around Stiles’ broad shoulders, his veins gone dark with Stiles’ pain. He continued down the path of his arms, finding all three knots and cutting them away with a flick of a claw.

This left Stiles’ face dangerously placed in the nook where Deucalion’s neck met his shoulder and Stiles wondered if this was some sort of wolf thing - he’d read about baring throats being a sign of submission and it had served to pacify an angry wolf in the past, but this felt different.

He closed his mouth, making sure not to ask, but that left him inhaling through his nose, and this close to the man, that was a bit of a problem. He smelled like cedar and musk and, seriously, fuck teenage hormones. Because Deucalion smelled _good_ and Stiles suddenly noticed the light dusting of facial hair on his chin and neck. And when Deucalion pulled back, Stiles rubbed his wrists and tried not stare at Deucalion’s biceps or notice how snug his cowl-necked shirt stretched over the obvious swell of his pecs.

Stiles flopped backwards onto his ass, hands behind him, propping himself up, and took a moment to marvel at the wonder of the adolescent body: able to go from groggy to terrified to in pain to turned on in the space of 40 minutes or less. There was time enough to hate himself before Deucalion spoke again.

“ _Stiles-_ ,” he started, voice like velvet, lilted with fake surprise.

“Shut up.” Deucalion smirked at Stiles’ interruption.

“If it’s any consolation,” he purred, “you smell just as enticing to me.”

A thought formed in Stiles’ head, a smattering of a plan in a tangling mess of lines, and if he could get from point A to point D, he might be able to get word to someone about his whereabouts. He tried to turn up the Stilinski Charm to 11, calm his heartbeat a little.

“You know… We’ve got some time to kill…” It was an awful opening line, but Stiles smiled and made sure he added as much sultry to his voice as possible. Deucalion’s smile got a little darker. The kind of dark that Stiles might able to work with. He bared his throat to the man, just in case.

“If, at any point during your stay, you think you could distract me, I would have to dissuade you from trying to reach out to your pack.” Stiles’ eyes widened and his breath quickened, the beginning edges of panic cresting in his chest. Deucalion pressed forward and flattened a clawed hand to Stiles’ chest, pushing him to the floor, face inches from his own. He spoke directly into his ear, voice still velvety smooth. “I would like to remind you that I am, and always will be, in complete control of the situation at hand.”

Once again, fuck teenage hormones, because Stiles’ body reacted to the proximity and the caressing tone by spinning his fear around into arousal so quickly he might have gotten whiplash. A small moan escaped its prison and floated up to greet them, and Stiles would just as easily die of mortification. Deucalion moved his head down and sniffed right at Stiles’ jugular, an appreciative hum vibrating what little air lay between them.

“Then again, you smell so receptive.” His voice seemed to reach deep into Stiles and rub against all the parts that made him want to roll over and tell Deucalion to do whatever he wanted. Deucalion’s hand reached up to close around Stiles’ neck, just a quick squeeze and, god help him, he groaned at the contact. “Well, well well.”

“ _Please_ ,” was all Stiles had to say before Deucalion was moving.

~*~*~

When Derek arrived, the other alpha was gone, but Stiles needed him to rip off the bindings. He was naked, tied to the banister, and smelled of sex and despair. Derek tried to catch Stiles’ eyes, he didn’t want to ask, but Stiles refused to look at him.

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't exactly sure what all to tag this with, so if you see anything that needs a tag or warning, let me know?
> 
> Also come say hi on [Tumblr](http://ficken-sie-bitte.tumblr.com)!


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